Beside Himself
by ProjectSynapse
Summary: When it comes to the Prince of All Saiyans, patience is a rare commodity. So when the Briefs family falls ill, will Dear Old Dad step up for them, or for that matter, merely put up with them? B/V


**This fic (obviously) takes place a few years after the Buu Saga. I think I've got a thing for that time-frame, haha. **

**Anyway, the idea should speak for itself. Enjoy. ^_^**

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**Beside Himself**

_Chapter One - Out of Options_

Vegeta awoke in a cold sweat, sheets clinging to his clammy form just as he found that he was clinging to his pillow for dear life. Another night, the third this week, had been consumed by gut-wrenching nightmares of his haunting past experiences. Poignant images of windswept landscapes, dust flying in his face, and the cruel, plaguing laughter surrounding him rang mockingly within his psyche, painfully draining him of all pride, all egotism and every semblance of self-respect. Yes, it had been another flashback to the pony stables.

Awful memories of that day danced in his head, reminding him of the unbearable blows which had been dealt to his pride. The Prince of all Saiyans should never have had to submit himself to riding around in a circle atop a crude imitation of the Earth-beasts known as horses. Even riding a horse would have been better than what he had been forced to endure that day. Horses were at least once known to carry human warriors into what passed for "battle" on the mud ball. But alas, he hadn't been so lucky.

To this day, the image of the Saiyan no Ouji towering over the small beast's back (at least, he preferred to believe he had been "towering" when in fact, he had about the same body size ratio to the pony as an average man would to a horse) was still clear in his mind. He could even remember the putrid scent about him through the dust that was kicked up from the pathetic excuses for equines which traveled in their unhurried circle ahead of him.

He had been forced into the compromising position by two things: his wife's inability to dress properly for her surroundings, and his daughter's indignant screams of life's cruel injustice. All day, Bulma had enticed Bra into behaving like a perfect little angel through the use of a tantalizing bribe. The deal went as follows: Bra acted nicely while Mommy's business partners were staying the night at Capsule Corp., and Mommy would take her to ride the ponies when they left. Bra had upheld her end of the deal, but what Mommy hadn't expected was a massive seven-car pile up on the freeway that afternoon. So, it looked as if the entire day would be consumed by temper tantrums. That was, until Bulma hatched an idea. Why couldn't Daddy just fly us there?

Now, the prince was no fool. He knew that such an act would surely entail more involvement than just a ride to their destination. They would most likely attempt to rope him into including himself in their activities. He refused at first, but after his daughter's screaming nearly deafened his acute Saiyan ears, he conceded and lifted them both into his arms, much to Bra's delight. He took off into the near evening sky, cursing his eldest son for choosing this night to go on a camping trip with Goten.

Upon arrival, they immediately learned that no child under two feet of height would be allowed to ride a pony alone. Immediately, both Vegeta and Bra looked expectantly at Bulma, who was clad only in a tube top, mini skirt and high heels.

It wouldn't take a genius to decide where the scene would go from there. Vegeta was their only means of returning home, which meant that he could either leave them there and ignore the problem, resulting in an entire night's peace followed by months of finding his own food, washing his own clothes and no sex, or…he could step in and be submitted to what he could only describe as the biggest blow to his ego since his arrival on the awful, stinking planet.

Ten minutes later, Vegeta begrudgingly held his daughter in place on the back of a pony named Majesty as they meandered along a well-worn, circular path in the dirt. His face was lined with a deep scowl as he lamented his glorious Saiyan mane which was crushed degradingly beneath a cowboy hat. Bulma, of course, was laughing uncontrollably, taking pictures at every angle. All he could think, over and over like a mantra to keep himself sane, was that he would make her pay dearly for this.

It was this scene that faded before his eyes as he crawled from the warmth of his bed into the darkness of the rest of the room. He rubbed his eyes violently, trying to shake the memory away with the night's sleep. He had promised himself never, ever to allow something so vile happen to him again. He simply couldn't live through it a second time. Unfortunately for him, he had made the mistake of putting himself in a very similar position without giving it so much as a second thought. Today was Saturday, and as part of another deal with his wife (As a result of their household being run by a corporate business leader and a Saiyan royal, the Briefs family found themselves more often than communicating like a normal family, striking deals and making offers only in return for other favors) Vegeta had agreed to accompany his family to the zoo. Why he had agreed to such a substantial compromise on his part was unclear to him now. At the time the deal was made, he had sized up the reward to be quite worth his while. But now that the day had arrived and irritation and humiliation loomed in his near future? That was a different story.

He could only hope to sneak out while Bulma was still sound asleep and perhaps the woman would forgive him within a few days' time for failing to remember their arrangement. Anything was worth getting out of reliving that hellish day back at the pony ride. But he soon realized that his plans were foiled when he turned, looking over his shoulder, only to watch Bulma's eyes slowly open. Damn that squeaky bedroom door.

"Vegeta?" she croaked into the darkness. "Is that you?"

His eyes darted back and forth as he tried to analyze the minimal amount of light in the room. Was it enough for her to see him with her weak human eyesight, or was his escape still feasible?

"Vegeta, I can see you standing there," Bulma sat up slightly. "Where are you going?"

Blast it. "I am attempting to take a shower, woman. Don't pester me with your questions." He hoped that this would be enough for her to go back to sleep. After all, it was still before dawn. There was silence for a moment, and then he heard a groan.

"Vegeta, don't go yet, please," she uttered in a quieter tone. She didn't sound like her usual self. She wasn't a morning person, really, but she definitely never sounded like this regardless of what the time was. He returned to the side of their bed, curious.

"What is it?" His tone wasn't too sharp. Perhaps she was attempting to lure him back into bed for a little morning indulgence before the children awoke. It wouldn't be the first time such a thing had happened. The thought brought a twinge of a smile to the corner of his mouth, and he waited quite patiently for her to respond.

She pushed the hair from her eyes, and it was then that he noticed how hollow her face looked. It was more pale than usual, and her eyes looked sunken. "I don't feel very good, hun," she throatily answered. "I think I might be coming down with something."

"Perfect!" The word escaped his lips fueled with excitement before his brain could catch up to them. This would be his out. What a stroke of good luck!

She turned to face him, scowling through the veil of dimness that separated them. "What did you just say?"

He cleared his throat to buy himself some time for a cover-up. "I said, perfect," he replied in a more disappointed, irritated tone. "I was just going to shower so that I would be ready to take us all to the…animal…place…and now you tell me that you're sick." He covered her up in a very nurturing, un-Vegeta-like manner, and patted her on the head. "Life just isn't fair sometimes."

With that, he turned on his heel and began to pace quickly toward the door, a spring in his step. "Hold on, there, buddy boy." She stopped him. "I know you're probably thrilled about getting out of our little deal, but I can't believe you're already shooting out the door without asking me if I need anything."

He turned abruptly, forcing a toothy, shark-like grin. "Of course not. Do you need anything?"

"As a matter of fact, I would like a glass of water, and my electric blanket. And if it's not too much _trouble_, I'd like you to hand me that box of tissues over there," she indicated the box sitting two feet away from her, on the bedside table.

Vegeta rolled his eyes. He _could _make some snide remark about her own arms being broken, but then again, if he wanted to be left alone for the rest of the day, the best thing to do would be to make her content enough to get back to sleep and with a little luck, she would sleep through the entire day. He tossed her the box with a grunt and headed out the door into the hallway. Passing his son's room, an idea crossed through his mind. He stopped and listened at the door for a moment, hearing only soft breathing. Pushing it open, he silently made his way to Trunks' bed. He watched him slumber peacefully for just a moment before completely shattering the relaxed look on his son's face by grunting in a militarily stern tone of voice, "Wake up, son."

The teenager shot up, startled. The jolted expression on his face subsided when he caught sight of his father, and he rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Ugh, what is it, Dad? It's gotta be like-"

"Six o'clock in the morning, yes," his father cut him off. "Your mother is ill, and she needs to be looked after. Go get her some water and find her electric blanket. I will be in the shower; not that it's any of your concern, since it would be unwise to bother me any further this morning."

Trunks rolled over, covering his head with his blankets. "Ah, Dad…why do I have to take care of her? I don't even feel very well myself."

"Right," Vegeta sneered. "As if I'm supposed to buy that lame excuse. Just go get the water. Now."

"Dad, I'm serious," Trunks insisted, sitting up to reach for his own glass of water. "I think I might be sick, too. I have a headache and I'm-" He stopped mid-sentence after having taken a sip of his water. It was as if the cool liquid had awakened something within him. Trunks' chest began to heave up and down violently as if he were about to expel something from it. His eyes flew open, and he raised them to meet his father's almost in a pleading manner, as if crying out for help.

Vegeta took a step back, unsure of what his son intended, or what was wrong. Just as quickly as the mood had changed, however, it returned to normal. Trunks took a deep breath and his eyes reverted to their half-lidded positions. He wiped the beading sweat from his forehead with clammy hands. "Oh, good. For a second there, I thought I was going to-"

With no further warning, the lavender-haired boy began to empty the contents of his entire digestive system onto the floor in front of his father. Vegeta leaped backward, avoiding the rancid matter although Trunks had obviously taken special care, even in his condition, not to get a drop of vomit on dear old dad. Even his subconscious knew better than that.

Vegeta's eyes fluttered as he tried to cover his mouth and nose to keep the stench out. "Dear Gods, boy. What have you done?"

This was, unfortunately, the first experience that the Saiyan prince had ever had with nauseous sickness. The Saiyan race had never performed such a disgusting act, as far as Vegeta knew. This was either due to their impeccable immune systems, or to the fact that their species had yet to come in contact with any virus that would cause them to regurgitate their food. Trunks, being a half-Saiyan had done some throwing up in the past, but obviously at that time Vegeta was no where to be found. And Every time Bra had gotten sick as an infant, Bulma did her best to keep her away from her Daddy, knowing that it could only do the worst for them both. Never in his life had he been in such proximity to vomit.

Trunks wiped his face with his shirt sleeve and looked up helplessly at his father. "I'm- I'm sorry, Dad."

Tossing a look at the ground which was now covered in bile and the remains of half-digested pizza rolls, Vegeta turned up his nose. "Yes, well…you're going to be sorry when you're forced to clean up this mess."

Trunks slinked down in his bed. "Ohhh dad…" His entire body was a crumpled mess, and his voice pleaded for mercy from the hardened man.

Vegeta's face softened slightly. Over his entire lifespan, Trunks had never been known to show weakness in front of his father. Vegeta had done his best to pound that ideal into the boy at a young age, and in spite of that fact he was now practically a bowl of jelly at his knees, acting like a young child again. He sighed. "Alright, I'll call up one of the robots to do it."

Vegeta redirected himself toward the hallway once again, taking care to step around the puddle of sickness on the floor. When he looked up, he caught sight of a small figure in the doorway. His daughter pushed her matted blue hair out of her face and looked up at him tiredly.

He gave an exasperated sigh. "Bra, what are you doing out of bed?"

She raised her arms above her head, indicating that she wanted him to pick her up. "Daddy," she simply stated.

He crossed the room and gathered her up. "Let's put Bra back in her bed," he uttered softly, betraying his gruff voice in an attempt to coax her back into sleep mode.

But she hadn't finished her statement. "Daddy," she repeated, burying her face into his bicep. "I think I'm si-"

He really wished he had put on a shirt that morning.

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